


Cold in my Professions

by siddown_john



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Bittersweet, Canon Era, Historical Inaccuracy, Lams - Freeform, Letters, M/M, Past Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-18 22:58:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11884611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siddown_john/pseuds/siddown_john
Summary: It was rare these days to hear anyone mention the name of John Laurens.This was why, when Alexander Hamilton heard the name spoken reverently above the din of the bar, he had no choice but to move in the direction of the voice, a little piece of him reawakening, a piece that had died along with John ten years ago.





	Cold in my Professions

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! This is a historical AU, so I don't want people freaking out at me if ages/years are "wrong," because this isn't supposed to be historically accurate (and also I'm awful at math). Here are some things to note about this verse:  
> \- This story happens in 1792, ten years after John died.  
> \- Alexander is 35 and Frances is 18 when this story takes place.  
> \- For purposes of this story, Frances was born in 1774, which makes her eight years old when John died.  
> \- Martha Manning died in childbirth  
> \- Frances spent her life living in the Laurens manor in South Carolina (with John when he was there), so they actually knew each other and had a strong bond.
> 
> Alright, I think that's about it, so enjoy!

It was rare these days to hear anyone mention the name of John Laurens. Alexander Hamilton, of course, had never forgotten the brave soldier and fierce abolitionist, but the world, it seemed, nearly had . This was why, when he heard the name spoken reverently above the din of the bar, he had no choice but to move in the direction of the voice, a little piece of him reawakening, a piece that had died along with John ten years ago.

Alexander moved slowly, almost against his will, pulled by the same magnetic force that had drawn him to John all those years ago. He pushed through the crowd of sweaty bar patrons, and briefly wondered if he was dreaming. His feet carried him to the bar, to a girl in a purple dress who sat, talking to a well-dressed man. He could only see her from behind as he approached, could make out a slim figure and dark, curly hair that spilled down her back. This was the girl, he knew instantly, who had spoken John’s name.

This was confirmed, in fact, when the girl said it again. “John Laurens,” she repeated, apparently in response to a question the gentleman had asked. 

Alexander was close enough now that he could hear their conversation clearly. The gentleman frowned. “You said your father was a war hero.”

“He is!” the girl insisted. 

“Then how come I’ve never heard of him?”

“In case you haven't noticed, our society still glorifies racism and slavery. History has tried to omit the heroes who have stood against it,” she snapped.

More heated words were exchanged between the pair, but Alexander didn’t hear any of them.  _ Your father...your father...your father... _ His mind repeated the man’s words over and over again. Before he had time to process, the girl hopped down from the bar stool and whirled around looking furious, heading towards the exit. Her hands were curled into fists, and Alexander swore his brain short circuited. John used to do the exact same thing when he was angry but had to hold back. And it wasn’t just that--the freckles that dotted every inch of her skin, the unruly curls, the deep, brown eyes, all of it was purely John, and there was absolutely no doubt as to who this girl was.

“Frances,” Alexander said quietly, mostly to himself. “Frances Laurens.”

And the girl stopped. Turned around, so she was face to face with Alexander. She still wore a scowl, residual anger from her conversation with the man. “Do I know you?” she asked skeptically. 

“I…” Alexander began, not even sure where to start. He was blown away by this girl, by the fact that the fire in her was so undeniably John Laurens. “I was---am--a friend of your father.”

The girl’s features softened. “You...knew my father?”

“Yes,” Alexander said quickly. “And you’re right. He was a war hero.”

Her brown eyes were filled with a mixture of curiosity and grief. “Can we talk? Outside? “ she asked quietly.

Alexander nodded, and followed the girl out of the bar, weaving through the crowd. They stepped outside onto the cobblestone street and began to walk, the autumn chill biting at them and making Frances shiver. Hamilton offered her his coat, which she refused. 

“It was very brave, what you said back there,” Alexander began. Frances looked at him curiously. “How history ignores the true heroes, glorifies atrocious institutions such as slavery. But I am certain there will come a day when those who stood against them will be properly revered and honored."

Frances stopped walking, and stared at him for a moment, her eyes alight with recognition and excitement. “Oh! You must be Alexander.”

Hamilton swore his heart stopped. “What? How did you…”

“He talked about you all the time,” Frances explained, a fond, faraway look on her pretty face. “Said you were so eloquent, so passionate about correcting injustice in the world.”

He inhaled sharply. Surely John hadn’t told her…

“He always said you were his dearest friend,” the girl added, and Alex exhaled. So the true nature of their relationship had remained a secret, it seemed. 

“And he was mine,” Alexander said quietly. They began to stroll again, and Alex was grateful for the chill. The colder weather kept most folk in their homes, and prying eyes away from the strange pairing that was Alexander Hamilton and a young girl who wasn’t his daughter walking down the street. 

A girl who wasn’t his daughter, but was definitely John’s. It was so surreal, walking down the street with the daughter of John Laurens, who he had only heard about. Truth be told, John had initially resented the fact that he had a child, that he had to marry Martha Manning and start a family with someone he didn’t love at age 20. But as the girl had grown, after Martha had passed away, John’s stories of her had become increasingly fond. He had loved her more than he ever expected to. And something told Alexander that John would have adored the girl she was today.

“So I suppose you’re eighteen,” said Alexander after doing the math in his head. She was eight when John died, he remembered.

Frances nodded, impressed.

“So what brings an eighteen year old to New York by herself? You still live in South Carolina, right?”

“I came here to see to my Aunt Martha. Now that I’m eighteen, I can pretty much do as I please. I do have a caretaker who was hired to see to me, but since I’m an orphan, no one really pays too much attention to where I am.”

Alex swallowed. “You’re an orphan? Of course." The thought hadn't really occurred to him before. "I’m an orphan.”

“I know,” she said. “Daddy told me.”

It was just another thing he and Frances had in common, he supposed.

They walked in silence for a few moments, both overwhelmed with unfamiliar emotions. Then Frances spoke up, asking a question that had Alexander completely floored. “You and my father were more than just friends, weren’t you?”

“What? No, I-” Hamilton began to deny, but the girl cut him off.

“I found your letters. After he died. They were hidden beneath his mattress.”

Alexander had no idea what to say to that. He only prayed the girl had been spared the most X-rated of their correspondence. He was unable to resist the question he asked next. “Where are the letters currently?”

Frances sighed. “They’re hidden for now. Safe. I’m the only one who knows about them. I wasn’t sure if I should-”

“Burn them.” Alexander spoke definitively, confidently. If there was any way John’s legacy could be tarnished, he knew he had to do everything in his power to stop that from happening. 

“I will, if that’s what you wish,” Frances agreed. “All but one of them.”

Alexander frowned. “What’s so special about the last letter?”

Frances smiled sadly. “It’s buried with him. In the coat pocket of his uniform.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you're looking for something else to read, check out my other fic (15 chapters now) which is a modern lams AU where the whole Hamilsquad works at a shopping mall.
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/11423640/chapters/25594308


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